wiped her eyes and stepped toward him. She looked dazed, but so happy she was almost glowing.
“Oh, my goodness. I never thought I’d get to make this particular introduction, but Sebastien, I mean, Lord Mowbray, this is my brother. Prince Dmitri Alexei Denisov.”
Seb’s temper ratcheted down a notch. Brother. Of course. He hadn’t caught the connection amid all that frenetic Russian.
He couldn’t throw the bastard overboard after all.
Bollocks.
The man held out his hand, and Seb reached out and grasped it, noting the subtle similarities between the two of them. Same blue eyes, the same wide cheekbones. There was a definite family resemblance.
A whole raft of conflicting emotions battered at his chest. Relief that Anya was safe mingled with pleasure on her behalf because the beloved brother she’d thought was dead had, by some miracle, been restored to her.
Hot on the heels of those sensations, however, came a crushing wave of defeat. With her brother alive, she was no longer unprotected. Why would she need him?
Seb wanted to hit something again. He glanced down at the lifeless body of Vasili Petrov and could summon not an ounce of remorse for the fact that he’d just killed the man. He would have been tried and hung as a traitor, anyway. He’d just done the Tsar a favor and saved him the embarrassment of a publicly damaging court case. No doubt Sir Nathaniel at Bow Street and Lord Castlereagh at the Foreign Office would approve of such an expedient outcome to their investigation.
The real priest, a doddery old fellow with a wispy, greying beard, shuffled forward and knelt by Petrov’s side, presumably in the hope of administering last rites, but there was no chance of that. Petrov had been dead before he’d hit the ground.
A shot to the heart had been too quick, considering the torment he’d inflicted on Anya, Seb thought savagely. If he’d had the chance, he would have made sure the bastard suffered long and painfully for his actions. It was a shame he couldn’t kill him all over again. Still, the threat to Anya had been eliminated, which was what he’d set out to achieve.
God, this was the second time she’d seen him kill. First, those kidnappers back at Hounslow, and now Petrov. She must be utterly repulsed by him. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Alex beat him to it.
“Delighted to meet you, Prince Denisov. I’m sure you have a great deal to discuss with your sister. May I suggest we all adjourn to somewhere more comfortable?”
Anya pulled out of her brother’s embrace but kept hold of his hand, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him. Seb suppressed a growl.
“That is an excellent idea.” She turned to her brother. “But I’m afraid I might have to wait a little while for an explanation.”
Seb frowned. Anya’s words were slurred, her movements slow and uncoordinated. Had the blow to her jaw given her a concussion? He took a concerned step toward her. “Why?” Fear made his tone harsher than he intended. “What’s the matter?”
Anya sent him an apologetic smile. Her pupils were huge, her face rather flushed. “Because I’ve had a dose of Lagrasse’s potion. And I think it’s finally—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Her eyes fluttered closed. Seb caught her reflexively as she collapsed in his arms.
He sent a panicked look over at the woman in the corner, who was presumably her kidnapped friend, Elizaveta. “What did she do?” he demanded.
“She tricked Petrov into drinking some kind of sleeping potion. In the vodka.”
“Christ,” Seb breathed, appalled. “How much did she have?”
“Half the little bottle. Petrov drank the other half.”
“Bloody hell.” Panic seared his insides. He lifted Anya’s slim body and cradled her against his chest. She weighed next to nothing. “I’m taking her back to the Tricorn.”
Her brother made no objection. He tugged the clerical robe over his head to reveal a plain shirt and black breeches and sent the elderly priest an apologetic look. “Reverend Father, I do apologize for stealing your robes and knocking you down. But it was for a worthy cause.”
The priest grumbled something at him in Russian, but then he made the sign of the cross in front of his face, so Seb assumed all was forgiven. He hoped the blessing extended to Anya too. He carried her through the shattered remnants of the door.
Alex and Ben stood aside to make room, and he caught Benedict’s eye. “Someone should stay here and deal with that.” He gestured at